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81
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
A garden in the rear of the house of Norman Maurice. Walk through a thick shrubbery. Enter Robert Warren and Mrs. Jervas.Warren.
So! So! You heard it all, then?
Mrs. J.
Every syllable.
Warren.
Glorious! But how did you conceal yourself?
Mrs. J.
An ante-room conducts us to the hall
Where they were secretly at conference;
Thither, when she descended from my chamber,
I softly follow'd. The convenient key-hole
Gave me the means, at once to hear and see them.
Warren.
Your foresight shames my thought! And so, this Maurice,
Denies that you shall harbor in his dwelling?
But this you must do! Your security
Lies in his household only! He might promise you
Your lodging in St. Louis,—board and clothing—
Ample provision for your state in future—
But once you free his household of your presence,
He whistles you down the wind. No obligation
Would bind him to the care of you hereafter!
Mrs. J.
What then? He's very stubborn in his spirit!
Warren.
Why, to be sure! The very thing, dear madam—
Your sickness will not suffer your removal:
Fatigue of travel, grief, anxiety,
Will have their penalties; and your prostration
Is such, that all the world would say 'twas monstrous
To drive you,—you, a stranger in the country,—
82
Your notion is a good one! Norman Maurice
Is not the man to urge the matter on you—
An invalid,—with feeble frame,—hot fever—
Confined to bed,—mind somewhat wandering!—
You're right! Methinks you need no counsel, madam.
Mrs. J.
I see! 'Twill do!
Warren.
'Tis excellent! So, Maurice
Accepts the Senatorial nomination,
Though still his pride revolts at working for it.
Well! He's not Senator yet. The widow's case
Will bring its perils too; and, at the finish,
I'll interpose to blight his growing glories,
And show him—Hark! a footstep—
Mrs. J.
Here she comes!
Warren.
Auspicious! Here, away; and, while you leave us, open a brief conference with her.
Meanwhile, 'tis well you put your scheme in progress;
Take to your bed, and get your nostrums ready;
Spare not your groans and sighs—a little faintness
Might well arrest you suddenly in your speech!
And—but enough. The thicket! Here, away!
[They retire behind the copse.
Enter Clarice.
Clarice.
Now all my sorrows sink into the sea,
Since Norman rises to such noble height,
The first in his desert and his desire!
Methinks, till now, I doubted of his fortune,
Nor ever felt secure from sad mischance;
The gibe of envious tongues, the jeer of malice,
The snares of bitter foes, and those dark meshes,
That still the treacherous hands of Warren spread!
These do not fright me now, and, though his presence,
83
Would seem to shadow forth some evil purpose,
Yet can I not esteem it cause of fear,
Since it were vain for such as he to struggle
Against the noble fortunes of my husband.
Warren,
[coming out behind her.]
Indeed! and yet the shaft that slew the lion,
Was but a reed beside the sedgy stream!
Clarice,
[seeing him and starting.]
Ah!
Warren.
The little scorpion issuing from the rock,
First slew the steed whose skull he 'habited.
Clarice.
Thou here again!
Warren.
If but to teach thee in philosophy!—
A pebble in the hand of shepherd slinger,
Smote, so we learn from Sacred History,
The proudest giant in Philistia's ranks.
Clarice.
And he whose presence still offends a woman,
But little dreams what champion she may call.
Warren.
I knew your champion absent ere I ventured.
Your highest pitch of voice, and greatest need,
Would never bring him timely to your succor.
Clarice.
What means this threat?
Warren.
It is no threat, Clarice;—
You will not need a champion when I'm near you.
Clarice.
And if I did, methinks, in Robert Warren
I should be loth to seek one! Why come hither,
My husband's foe, pursuing still his fortunes,
And mine, with bitter malice!
Warren.
Thee with love!
Clarice.
Who wrongs the husband, cannot love the wife!
Warren.
Clarice, 'twas in my passionate love for thee,
First grew the passionate hate I bear thy husband!
'Till thou, with fatal beauty, came between us,
He was the twin companion of my pleasures.—
84
We still together went, by hill and valley,
Beside the stream, and through th' untrodden forest,
Having no faith but in our youthful friendship,
No joy, but in the practice shared together.
'Twas thou that changed my kinsman to a rival—
'Twas thou that changed our friendship into hate;
We fell apart, suspecting both, and loathing,
When first our mutual hearts inclined to thee!
Clarice.
He did not hate thee—had no jealousy,
But still confided to thee, even his passion;
And thou—alas! audacious that thou art,
How canst thou still forget that I too know thee,
A traitor to his trust!
Warren.
Have I denied it?
I would have won thee from my dearest kinsman.
My treachery to him was truth to thee!
Clarice.
And yet 'twas fruitless! Was it not enough
That thou shouldst fail? Why now—
Warren.
Enough!
Was every passion to be wreck'd forever,
In that which had denial in thy scorn?
With love denied, was vengeance—
Clarice.
Vengeance! Ha!
Is it his life thou aim'st at now, or mine?
Warren.
Neither!
Clarice.
What then? We're separate forever,—
Our lots are cast apart,—our lives divided,—
Why, when no profit comes to thee—no pleasure,
To us, at this dark crossing of our footsteps—
Why art thou here?—Why vex us with thy presence,
To thy own deep defeat?
Warren.
In your own thoughts,
Look for the answer to this teeming question.
85
Whate'er my vices or deficiencies,
I am no simpleton, but have a cunning
That scarce would keep me profitlessly working,
Still drawing fruitless waters in a sieve!
That I should press upon your husband's footsteps,
Would prove I still had hope of my revenge!
That I should seek thee in thy secret bower,
Would show me still not hopeless of thy love!
Clarice.
Oh! vain and insolent man!
Warren.
Hold, a little!
If hopeful still of you, 'tis through the prospect
Of vengeance on your husband.
Clarice.
Face him then!
Warren.
You but increase my eager thirst for vengeance,
When you remind me of the frequent struggle,
Which ended in my overthrow and shame.
Clarice.
Is't not enough, thus baffled and defeated?—
Why thus encounter still the shame and danger?
Warren.
And if my hope lay only in my fortune—
If still my triumph waited on my strength,
And, to the skill and vigor of mine arm,
I looked to win the vengeance that I covet—
I should forego the conflict, as you counsel,
And leave your world in peace, concealing mine!
Clarice.
Well, sir—you pause!
Warren.
I would have had your thought
Supply the words of mine; but, as it does not—
Know that I look to other means of vengeance;
Not through my strength, but in his feebleness—
Not in my virtue, but your husband's vices!
Clarice.
Oh! hence!
Warren.
Yet, hear me! at this very moment
Your husband seeks the pinnacle of power;
86
The highest place awaits him in the state—
The highest in the nation! At a word,
I can o'erthrow him from his eminence,
Can make his name a by-word and a mock,
Degrade him from his rank, and, with a secret—
Clarice.
Shallow and impotent, as base and worthless!—
Hence with your secret! Me can you delude not,
Though you delude yourself. I know this secret!
Warren.
What! Your husband's forgery?
Clarice.
Your forgery?
Think not to cheat me with your foul contrivance.
You prated of his skill in penmanship—
Defied it,—placed examples in his eye—
And he, confiding—dreaming not that one,
The kinsman who had shared his home and bosom,
Could meditate a falsehood or a crime—
Wrote, at your bidding, sundry names of persons;
And, with these names, without his privity,
Your hand devised the drafts which got the money—
Your hand expended what your guilt procured,
On your own pleasures, in his grievous wrong—
And he hath paid the debt. The fatal papers,
Which might have been a means of his undoing,
Were burned before mine eyes!
Warren.
Your eyes deceived you.
I'll not deny your story of the fraud;
But, for the papers—let me whisper you—
They were not burn'd—they live for evidence—
Are now in my possession—damning proofs,
For the conviction still of Norman Maurice.
Clarice.
Oh, false as hell! These eyes beheld them burning.
Warren.
Hark, in your ear! What you beheld destroyed,
Were but the copies of originals,
87
The originals are mine!
Clarice.
Have mercy, heaven!
What will you do with them?
Warren.
What you determine.
Clarice.
What mean you?
Warren.
What! can you not conjecture?
Clarice.
No, as I live!
Warren.
What should I do with them?
Appease my hatred, pacify my vengeance,—
Wait till this still triumphant enemy
Puts foot upon the topmost ring of the ladder,
Then cut away the lofty props that raise him,
And let him down to scorn and infamy.
Another day would make him senator,
But that I step between, and show these papers,
And then the thousand voices in his honor,
Pursue him with their hiss!
Clarice.
Hellish malice!
Oh, if there be a human nature in thee,
Forbear this vengeance.
Warren.
If it pleases thee!
Clarice.
How, if it pleases me?
Warren.
See you not yet?
The alternative is yours to let him perish,
Or win the eminence that still he seeks.
Clarice.
Tell me!
Warren.
Be mine!
Clarice,
[recoiling.]
Thine!
Warren.
Ay! for nothing less
Than the sweet honey dew that lines thy lips,
The heaven that heaves in thy embracing bosom,
Will I forego this vengeance.
Clarice.
God have mercy!
88
Thou hast no papers! I must see—
Warren.
Thou shalt!
Meet me, Clarice, at sunset, in yon thicket.
Clarice.
I dare not. In yon thicket—
Warren.
Dare you, then,
Behold your husband perish?
Clarice.
You but mock.
Warren.
Wilt have me swear?
Clarice.
What oath would bind a wretch
So profligate in sin? I will not come!
My husband's honor still defies your arts,
And mine defies your passion.
Warren.
You have doom'd him!
Clarice.
Oh, say not so! You would not have me madden.
Warren.
I swear it! what I tell you is the truth.—
I have these papers, own this fearful power
Upon his fame and fortune, and will use it—
Clarice.
And—if I come?
[Looking vacantly.
Warren.
And yield you to my passion,
The papers, with the fatal evidence,
Shall all be yours.
Clarice,
[aside.]
Be resolute, my soul!
Heaven help me in this strait and give me courage.
[Aloud.]
Bring you the papers, Robert Warren; and—
Warren,
[eagerly.]
You'll come?
Clarice.
If I have strength and courage, I will come.
[Exit Clarice, slowly.
Warren.
Then mine's a double triumph! Fool!—these papers
Shall serve a twofold purpose: win the treasure,
And yet confound the keeper when he wakes!
[Exit Warren.
89
SCENE II.
The porch of the Court-house of St. Louis. Norman Maurice about to enter, accompanied by the Widow Pressley and Kate, is detained by Mercer upon the threshold.Mercer.
A word with you, if you please.
Maurice.
Go in, madam,
And find yourself a seat until I come:
I'll follow soon.
[Widow and child enter.
Mercer.
This case will keep you late,
And we this evening hold a conference,
Touching the course of the debate to-morrow;—
Were it not better you took bed with us,
And, in the mean while, lest your wife grows anxious,
Advise her, by a billet, of your purpose?
Maurice.
Well thought of. I will do so.
[going.
Mercer.
Something farther:
Catesby here tells me—but he comes: here, Catesby.
What's this of Savage?
[Enter Catesby.
Catesby,
[to Maurice.]
You've won the Savage heart.
It seems that Blasinghame misdoubts your courage,
And, as you gave no reference on his challenge,
Inclines to violence; and has bid his lambs
Gather about him to behold the sport.
Maurice.
Ah, sport!
Catesby.
And this in utter scorn of Savage,
Who counsell'd patience till the time is over,
Fix'd by you for your answer. Blasinghame
Growls sullen, and shows Savage a cold shoulder:
'Twas he himself advised that you be watchful.
90
I thank him, and feel grateful to the Savage.
As for this Blasinghame, he'll have need to growl,
When we have done with him. But farther—Catesby—
Be you convenient, and, when court is over,
Meet us at Mercer's.
Catesby.
I shall stay the trial.
Maurice.
Good. Let us in then.
[Exeunt within.
Enter Blasinghame, Savage, and others.
Blasinghame.
That's enough, Joe Savage.
Savage.
Ay, if it answers.
Blasinghame.
Answers or not, I tell you, still enough.
Your counsel's something quite unlike yourself.
Savage.
And, for that very reason, may be wisdom.
Blasinghame.
Perhaps!—but I'm not used to sudden changes.
I will take farther counsel with myself.
Savage.
Doubtless, to find the way to wise conclusions.
I wash my hands of the business.
Blasinghame.
Pray do so!
But, see you Ferguson?
Savage.
He follows us,
Yonder, with Matthews and the stranger, Warren.
Blasinghame.
Well, if all fails to bring this Maurice down,
That fellow hath a secret.
Savage.
What is it?
Blasinghame.
Why, something that should please you,—quite pacific—
For final overthrow of this man, Maurice;
But let us in. I should be rather anxious,
Having at stake a fortune on this trial.
[Exeunt within.
Enter Ferguson with books and papers, accompanied by Warren.
Warren.
You have it all, sir. At the public meeting
You boldly challenge him with forgery,
91
And summon Richard Osborne to confirm them.
Ferguson.
We'll crush him at a blow.
Warren.
'Till then, nothing!
The shame must be complete, beyond recovery.
Let him stretch forth his hand to gain the station,
In sight of all, then, in remediless ruin,
Hurl him down headlong.
Ferguson.
You are sure of him—
Your facts—your proofs, your persons?
Warren.
Sure as fate!
Ferguson.
You will not fail us?
Warren.
Would you have me swear?
Have I been wrong'd, and do I hate this Maurice?
Will hate forego the prospect of revenge?
Revenge reject the draught that quenches thirst,
And he who long has dream'd of hidden treasure,
Turn from the golden prize, at last his own?
Not, if the hell that feeds this passion fiercely,
Bestow the needful resolution for it!
Ferguson.
And this man, Osborne?
Warren.
He has had his lesson—
He'll answer when you call him.
Ferguson.
All then is true?
Warren.
As true as need be for a lawyer's purpose,
As for a foe's.
Ferguson.
'Tis very pitiful—
For, though I like him not, this Norman Maurice
Is still a man of wondrous qualities;—
But for this lapse from virtue he had been
Most perfect.
Warren.
It is well he is not perfect,
Or he had put humanity to the blush,
By showing, in rough contrast, to her shame,
92
Ferguson.
I do not like this business, but our need
Will not permit that we discuss its merits;—
We'll see you with the morrow.
Warren.
With the hour,
That hears your accusation!
Ferguson.
Good!
[Exit Ferguson within.
Warren.
Ay, good!
It could not well be better for our purpose.
The mine is sprung, the victim still approaches,
Unconscious, and my hand must fire the train!
But here comes Osborne. I must speak him sternly;
He cannot silence me with womanish scruples,—
He shall not!—Well, our scheme works famously.
Enter Osborne.
Osborne.
Your scheme; not mine!
Warren.
When will your wisdom, Osborne,
Conceive that scheme of mine is scheme of yours,—
Or should be? Now, then, hear our present purpose.
Ferguson brings the charge!
Osborne.
What! you have told it?
Warren.
Only to him; and he will keep it safely,
'Till comes the proper moment for explosion.
When our young senator, in public meeting,
Rises to answer to the public summons,
And take the coveted laurel to his brow,
Then will we loose our thunderbolt, whose bursting
Tears him to atoms.
Osborne.
What am I to do, then?
What wretched part must I play in this business?
Warren.
A minor one, 'tis true, but quite important.
You'll be my echo. When I give the signal,
Confirm my statement and complete our proofs.
93
Are you not under pledges to his wife,
To yield her up these proofs?
Warren.
Ay, on conditions.
Osborne.
Well!
Warren.
What of that? Another means of vengeance!
See you not that I strike him, through her virtue,
But not the less denounce him to the public.
I'll wheedle her with a promise to my arms,
Then mock the easy confidence that listen'd
To one she dared despise.
Osborne.
Oh, Warren! Warren!
Whither would you carry me—where go yourself?
Warren.
To hell, if need be, so I gain my object!—
Achieve the conquest that to me is heaven,
Comprising, as it must, in equal measure,
At once the joys of passion and of hate!
For you—remember, Osborne—no more scruples!
You are mine—soul, body, thought and feeling, mine—
And these shall ply as still my passions counsel,
Or woe betide the rebel.
Osborne.
Better slay me!
Warren.
Nay, you're not fit to die yet; nor could serve me
Hereafter, half so usefully as now.
At dusk, I keep the meeting with our beauty,
And thence with Matthews to a secret meeting.
Look for me home at midnight; and to-morrow—
Remember! no evasion. Fix'd as fatal,
My will nor brooks dissuasion nor defeat.
[Exit Warren.
Osborne.
Had I the heart to perish, 'twere less pain,
Than bend beneath this scourge and bear this chain.
[Scene closes.
94
SCENE III.
An apartment in the dwelling of Norman Maurice. Enter Clarice, reading a note.Clarice.
Not with me till to-morrow! 'Tis an age!
The first night separate since we were married.
Yet better thus. How could I meet my Norman,
Having this deep concealment in my heart,
Nor shudder with a weight of shame, whose crimson
Would set my cheeks on flame! How stifle feeling,
To cling in fondness to his manly bosom,
Nor speak the terrible purpose in my heart,
That said, would stifle his! 'Tis better thus!
Enough, that when I meet him—meet him—yes!—
When his dear voice is sounding in mine ears,
Full of the conscious triumphs that await him,
I then may fling myself upon his breast,
And show the dire necessity that made me
The thing I dare not name,—and plead with him,
For each prompt sacrifice of feminine feeling;
The nerve that rose above the woman weakness,
As still the tribute to his fame and safety.
He will forgive—will bless;—and if he does not!—
Should he recoil from my embrace, and show me
The crimson proof of shame upon my garments,
And cry, “thy hands, that once were white and spotless,
Are red with guilt:”—but no—I dare not think it.
Let me not look that way. Impossible!
Shall I not, while they threaten, steel my heart,
Against this dread necessity, nor tremble,
95
I bathe this white and innocent hand in crime!
I shudder, yet I shrink not. Give the power,
God, to this heart, against the coming hour!
SCENE IV.
Open space before the Court-house of St. Louis. Groups of Lawyers and Citizens.1st Lawyer.
Didst hear the speech of Maurice in this case?
2d Lawyer.
'Twas terrible!
1st Lawyer.
I never heard the like!
And when he did discourse of Blasinghame,—
His first wrong to the widow—his denial
Of the poor orphan's right—his violence
To those who strove to serve her interests—
The picture that he painted was so monstrous,
That every heart grew cold.
3d Lawyer.
And Blasinghame,
Himself—didst note him?
2d Lawyer.
'Twas another picture!
1st Lawyer.
He sat a spectacle of ghastly fury,
That had moved pity, could we have forgotten
His looks at the beginning of the case.
At first, how bold he seem'd—with what defiance;
Next, with what doubt; then follow'd his dismay—
And last, his fury; while, with impotent rage,
And something, as it seem'd, of shame and horror,
In his own spite at what the other drew,
He crouch'd at last beneath the terrible scourging,
And half escaped from sight.
96
I saw him clutching
The panel that he lean'd on, as for help,
While, beaded on his forehead, the big sweat
Still gather'd as it fell; and, on his lips
The stain of red that mingled with the foam,
Show'd how he had even bitten through his lips,
In his great agony, and knew it not.
1st Lawyer.
The judge has charged the jury!
2d Lawyer.
He was charging
Just when I left. I could not stand it longer—
As much exhausted at the stern excitement,
As Blasinghame himself.
1st Lawyer.
For Ferguson,
The up-hill work was pitiful. To follow,
With such a case, a speaker such as Maurice,
Was quite as killing to himself as client.
Nobody heard, or cared to hear, his pleading—
Not even the jury.
2d Lawyer.
What will be the verdict?
1st Lawyer.
Why, who can doubt? The insuppressible groan,
That broke from every breast—the gaze of fury
That blazed in every eye, when, pointing slowly,
And shaking with such dire significance,
The hand of Maurice fix'd on Blasinghame,
As still, with holy horror in his accents,
He spoke his wonder, that, with guilt so hideous,
He still could brave the gaze of man and justice!—
That groan and glance declared the popular judgment,
And such will be the verdict.
2d Lawyer.
Hark! that cry—
1st Lawyer.
Declares it.
[Shouts in the porch as the people rush out of the Court-house.]
1st Citizen.
Hurrah for Norman Maurice!
2d Citizen.
The widow's friend!
97
The people's man forever!
2d Lawyer.
There speaks the popular heart.
1st Lawyer.
A glorious voice,
That makes him senator.
2d Lawyer.
Hark! he comes forth.
Enter Maurice, with widow Pressley and Kate, followed by Mercer Brooks, Catesby, and others. Shouts.
Widow.
Ah! sir. God's blessing on you,—make us happy,
And take the half of all you've got for us!
Maurice.
Not for the world, dear madam! I'll not forfeit
The pure delight I feel in serving virtue
For its won sake! In lifting the down-trodden,
For sake of wrong'd humanity! No more.
[People shout.
1st Voice.
Hurrah for Norman Maurice!
2d Voice.
The widow's friend!
3d Voice.
The people's man forever!
Maurice
, [to Mercer.]
Let us get hence.
Dear madam, take my carriage,
And bear the grateful tidings to my wife;
Remain with her to-day while I am absent;—
To-night, as still it's like, I shall be absent,
Rejoice her with our triumph. She expects you!
Widow.
I have no thanks—no words,—my tongue is frozen.
Maurice.
'Tis that the thaw is wholly at your heart!
Go hence. Escort her, Mercer, to the carriage.
[Exeunt Widow, Kate, and Mercer.
Catesby,
[whispering to Maurice.]
Look to it, Maurice—here comes Blasinghame!
Enter Blasinghame with others.
Blasinghame.
Where is he! Let me see! Ha, give me way!
[Forces through the crowd, rushes upon Maurice, striking him with a stick.
98
Maurice.
A blow—and I no weapon! But it needs none—
When, with such powerful passions in my heart,
I feel my sinews fortified with strength,
To drag a thousand tigers to my feet.
Thus, monster, that hast trampled on a people,
Defied their virtues—at their sufferings mock'd—
Thus, with my foot upon thy stubborn neck,
I trample—I degrade thee to the dust!
[Seizes Blasinghame by the throat, hurls him to the ground, and stands upon his neck. Shouts of the people.
1st Citizen.
Hurrah for Norman Maurice!
2d Citizen.
The people's friend!
3d Citizen.
The champion of the widow!
Catesby,
[interposing.]
Enough, sir. Let him rise. I'll whisper him
Where he can find us.
Maurice.
Now, within the hour!
[Catesby and Savage lift Blasinghame.
Catesby.
Colonel Blasinghame!
Blasinghame.
Where is he? Give me way!
Maurice,
[confronting him.]
Here!
Savage,
[interposing.]
Enough of this!
I see! You'll be at Mercer's. [To M.]
Maurice.
Ay, now!
Savage.
No more! Come, Blasinghame.
Blasinghame.
You, Joe!
Well, you are true, boy, and I did you wrong.
Forgive me! You will see to this. This man
Hath had his cursed foot upon my neck!
You saw it!—ha! You saw it!
Savage.
He will meet you!
Blasinghame.
Ha, Joe! Your hand. But when?
Savage.
Within the hour!
99
Good! See to it. Ha, ha. Methinks—
Savage.
No more!—
Away with me at once; you must not linger.
Blasinghame.
Methinks I could drink blood. I'm very thirsty.
[Exeunt Blasinghame and Savage.
Catesby.
Come, let us get in trim. Are you a shot?
Maurice.
No!
Catesby.
Ah! that's unfortunate!
Maurice.
You think so?—
Never you matter, Catesby: I will kill him!
END OF ACT FOURTH.
| Poems descriptive, dramatic, legendary and contemplative | |